


Not quite but almost

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: A small shift is all it takes. Yon comes to Korriban a week late and misses his ‘chance’ to apprentice under Darth Baras. (good riddance)He does not become the Emperor’s Wrath. What he becomes instead is highly irritated in a professional capacity.Or, the one were Yon’Sar ends up being an instructor at the Korriban academy.





	Not quite but almost

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled from the SWTOR Shorts collection because it now has a second part. And maybe a third, we'll see.

In another life, things might have been different. Yon might have spent his life doing his utmost to be a symbol, a flawless representation of passion, strength and honor. A faceless spectre, unrelenting and unstoppable. Someone whose presence would bolster the morale of their troops and break the spirit of their enemies.

He would have served well and faithfully, his doubts a private, quiet thing.

There is no space for doubt here. Not when these damned brats are trying their best to be the end of him, sometimes literally. Not so today but that doesn’t change that his pulse is already pounding with aggravation. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

Yes, had things been different he would have been silent, looming menace, for all of his five feet in height.

Wrath he might not be but Yon still manages to appear larger than life. His presence in the Force is blooming like a burgeoning explosion. His students cringe almost as one.

“What the kriff were you thinking? That tablet was five thousand years old!”

Yare, who is both braver and more eager to please than the rest, dares venture into an explanation. More fool he. “Well. Uhm. You said-”

“I karking know what I said! ‘Get the pieces’ not 'make more'!”

There is really nothing quiet about Instructor Sar. He seems at a perpetual simmer of irritation that is just waiting for his Acolytes to provide it with a spark. And provide it they do. Often and with accuracy.

Yare watches as their collective teacher’s temper detonates into recriminations and punishment details, liberally peppered with more curses than he has heard since they dragged him from the slave pens in Bosthirda. If their instructor is to be believed they’ll be shining the atrium until the next century.

That will probably turn out to be about a month. A month of their taskmaster breathing down their neck until their assigned space is absolutely spotless, or so help them the Force. Which it won’t. He has heard Rinali mutter, very very quietly, that not even the Force would be stupid enough to mess with instructor Sar’s detentions.

Yare can’t help but agree. Very, very quietly.

Sar’s a little terrifying. He doesn’t doubt their teacher would actually make them de-infest one of the more obscure tombs from the latest outbreak of whatever vermin manages to crawl back from the recesses of extinction through some Inquisitor spell gone wrong, or sheer dumb luck because this is Korriban and such things happen here.

Who is he kidding, ten creds say it will be the Sith magic and whatever idiot spawns the little monsters won’t even have the decency to die doing it.

But, if they’re lucky that won’t happen until the next disaster. Maybe. Seeing as Instructor Sar has to threaten them with cleaning duty instead of a horrible, drawn-out death.


End file.
